Classica
by Kamaka
Summary: Sequel to Acoustic. It is not who you are that matters, who you were a moment ago is irrelevant all that matters is who you will be in this moment. Will you let fate choose or will you make your own destiny?
1. Chapter 1

Atlantis at night is a beautiful thing. After all the running around that goes on during the day, when the sun sets it's like the city can begin to breath again. It's a long exhale into peace that comes like a blanket in the cold. Outside the waves seem to quiet, as if they too need the rest. The moon appears like a coin in the sky, almost as coldly burning as the sun is during the day. And the path the moon paints on the water seems like it could take you all the way to the heavens above.

But not tonight.

Tonight the sea around Atlantis ran a deep red. Tonight the only peace found inside the walls of the city belonged to the dead. Bodies were scattered around the place, Earth's forces, Pegasus Forces, he wished he could say that it made a difference. It didn't. All the bodies burned together, all the sorrows were the same. It was painful to see, the kind of sight that scarred man for the rest of their lives.

General Marcus Lorne of the United Earth Forces worried that had just happened to him as he surveyed the damage that had once been his home. The few years the war had been going on changed the double agent considerably. His thick dark hair was streaked with a few grey threads and his eyes had taken on a hollow, pained look. He had sacrificed everything for what he believed in, even swearing to uphold the rule of a people he no longer felt he belonged too.

His only joy as he watched the U.E.F. gain advantage after advantage in the war was that Atlantis still stood proud. Atlantis still belonged to the Allied Pegasus Forces. Atlantis was still there. Now it was gone, the city reduced to a graveyard. He was disgusted at the sight of it, that disgust mirrored on the faces of many of his comrades.

"General Lorne!"

Marcus turned around to see Lt. Colonel Jean McKay jog towards him, her strawberry blond braid swinging behind her. She looked absolutely nothing like Rodney Mckay with her tan skin and darker hair. Where Rodney was a scientist, Jean was a fighter. The only semblance that Marcus could see was the eyes. Both had the same bright blue eyes that held the kind of expression that Marcus had never seen another person pull off. Right now, Jean's eyes were tired, as if seeing the place her brother called home took a lot out of her.

"Yes?" he asked the woman he had chosen to be his second in command.

"Did you hear?" she asked him, "they're declaring this to be the greatest victory of the war."

"Well this is a great victory," he commented dryly.

"They're not calling it a great victory because of this," she said motioning to the mess of people around them, "this is ridiculous."

"Why are the calling it a great victory?" he asked, coldness creeping through him.

"I'll show you," she said moving forward.

She led him down the hallway and into the gate room. Marcus hesitated a moment, just a fraction of a second before walking into the room. He froze at the entrance way, no force on any earth enough to make him move from that spot. Jean looked at him oddly as the blood drained from his face.

With a great deal of effort, he moved fully into the room. The gate room had been completely destroyed. He barely recognized it. In fact, he didn't recognize it at all. The tiles had been stripped, the glass had been shattered and the Star Gate had been cracked in half, toppled so the half on the ground had snapped into an additional part. It was so gruesome that he almost looked away.

"Jean," he said, his voice tight, "go round up the men. Tell them to make burial arrangements for our own and send out a wave across the galaxy that any member of the Pegasus Forces may come and collect their dead without risk. Tell the other generals that I'm declaring a cease-fire for the next eight days."

"Sir, do you think that's a good idea?" Jean asked, her voice confused, "eight days is a little long for the enemy—"

"I said eight days," Marcus said, his voice sharper than Jean had heard him use in a long time, "go relay the messages Lt. Colonel."

She winced and departed with a salute.

When she was gone, Lorne all but collapsed onto the cold tiles. Everything hurt, it hurt to breath, it hurt to think, it hurt to look around and see what had happened and to know that even with his warning so many died. The only sound in Atlantis was his heartbeat, pounding furiously. Doubling over, he choked back the screams tugging at his vocal chords and tried to compose himself.

Shaking off his stupor, he got to his feet and walked over to the gate. Reaching out carefully, he ran a finger along the edge of the device that had changed his life so drastically. He shook his head sadly at the sight and wondered how much they had sacrificed to get here. Dropping his hand, he sighed and walked over to the Gate room. Stepping up into the control booth, he ran his hands over the controls, trying to memorize them. He closed his eyes, trying to continue his memorization.

His finger stopped when it hit the sharp object. Lifting his index finger, he looked at the red dot that welled up. Frowning, he bent down and looked at the object that had cut him. It was wedged into the controls in a gap narrower than he thought possible to fit something in. Carefully he worked it out.

It was a necklace, an odd thing to be abandoned in the middle of a war. It was a dagger pendant with two stones, his blood stained the tip of the dagger. For a moment he was worried that it had been poisoned. But then he turned the dagger over and saw that the silver blade was clean, the two diamonds on the hilt glinted in the light. He looked at the blade closely.

"Remember," he said, staining the blade further to make out what the writing was, "remember what you fight for."

He folded the chain into his palm clenching the dagger in the groove where his hand met his wrist. Sliding the chain into the pocket of his vest, he jogged down the stairway and back into the main gate room. He stopped short in front of the gate and looked at the edges of the cut. It was neat and clean, as if a razor had sliced it, not a battle.

"This is General Lorne," he said, pressing the radio on his jacket, "if anyone saw the Gate destroyed, I want to know."

The sound of something hitting the tiles had forced Jean to stop. She had eased herself back to the doorway and peered around to see her commander fall to the ground. Gasping, she turned around, looking down at the tiles. Carefully, she looked back around and confirmed exactly what she had seen. General Marcus Lorne, an absolute hero, was on his knees in the Gate room of the enemy apparently trying very hard not to cry. Turning back to the wall, she covered her mouth with her hand and hurried off down the hallway.

"Lt. Colonel, are you okay?"

"So, McKay, find your brother yet?"

"Hey Jeannie guess who I saw—"

Jean kept running, shouting over her shoulder that she had a message to deliver. Her feet hit the ground in a rhythmic pace as she headed for the communications men to deliver the message, then to the generals. Generally considered a loner, she was fine with that. She would have been fine with staying a Lieutenant but she had advanced rank due to the alarmingly large number of dead men. A shadow had hung over her though, from day one, something that no-one would let her forget.

She was Rodney McKay's sister.

Yes, that Rodney McKay. Officially now he was considered in the inner circle and a wanted man. Never mind the fact that he was in the inner circle and she was a low ranking officer. Never mind the fact that he hadn't picked up a weapon or learned how to fight. Never mind that they hadn't spoken or seen each other in over a decade. No, she was Rodney's sister, even if only by a last name.

"Colonel McKay!"

Jean skidded and turned around to see General Jack O'Neil approaching her. To say the two had liked each other from the instant they met would be a total lie. He had forced her into the military because of her brother. Then, she learned there was more to the story. It was no secret that the General was less than pleased with how the Stargate program had worked out. He stayed because of an oath he took, nothing more. It was better than Daniel Jackson who had left in disgust after the war had been made official. General O'Neil still held himself proud and tall, he still fixed people with his gaze in an unsettling way—despite being blind in his left eye now.

"General O'Neil," she said saluting quickly.

"Walk with me," he said turning on his heel. She jogged to match his pace before falling in line beside him, "I'm promoting you to the rank of full Colonel, effective immediately," he said, "you know when this program started it was the learn about those we share the galaxy with, not to have the galaxy destruct like this," he shook his head, "I wonder if there'll be a galaxy left when we're done," he shook his head and turned into a room, "you need to see this."

"Oh my God," Jean gasped.

The two of them were standing in the middle of the biggest room that Jean had seen in Atlantis yet. It was partially submerged in the water, but the end of the walls were visible, the clear moonlit water streaming underneath. There were a few bodies scattered around but it was clean compared to the rest of the city. Above them was a massive walkway, partially collapsed, as if something huge had fallen on it.

"What is this?" Jean asked turning to face General O'Neil.

"This," he said, "is why we picked the people we did to join the Atlantis Expedition. Best we can tell, they were Ancient devices, ships of some kind."

"Ancient devices, but sir, doesn't that mean only Ancients could pilot them?"

"Not necessarily," he said turning to her, "we've found evidence that the Atlanteans perfected a type of Gene Therapy that allowed people suitable to gain the ability to use Ancient devices. Your brother was a test subject—as successful one."

"Sir—" Jean opened her mouth to protest.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, "but we need this, we need Ancients on our side. Your brother and you share DNA, you can take this Gene Therapy and have an ATA gene. You can help us bring them back."

"Bring them back, sir they're all in there," she said motioning back to the city.

"Actually they're not," he said, "most of the inner circle, as well as the monarchs escaped along with a good portion of the city's population. As long as they're out there this war will drag on. If we bring them back now, if we bring them back quietly we can avoid more sacrifice---more unnecessary sacrifice."

Jean ran a hand along her hair and looked at the ships before turning back to the city. She saw the look on the soldier's faces, saw them dying and saw them dead. She felt the pain. She had the opportunity to end it, an opportunity to help them and to find a place that wasn't defined by her brother. When she turned to face General O'Neil, he saw the determination in her eyes.

"What do I have to do?"


	2. Chapter 2

It was pitch black.

Wherever John Sheppard was, it was dark and smelled of something foul. His entire body seemed to ache painfully, as if he had been beaten severely recently. The most troubling thing was that he couldn't remember. The last thing he remembered was fire, the smell of burning flesh and someone screaming his name before everything fell away.

"Elizabeth," he gasped, his ribs screaming in protest as he sucked in air.

He gritted his teeth and forced one elbow underneath him. Pushing himself up slowly, he looked around as best he could, but no-one was there. He was in a cell with dark sloping walls that appeared seamless but probably were not. He stood up slowly and walked over to the walls.

"Can anyone hear me?!" he shouted pounding on the wall, "where the hell am I?"

"Peace," a voice said, "slave."

"Slave?" John demanded, "what do you mean slave?"

"Atlantis has fallen. As a member of the fallen army, you have been taken prisoner and deemed useless because of your injuries," the voice continued, "it has been further determined that because of your bravery, you have been given over to the Neutral Worlds for sport or bondage whichever is decided by your owner."

John felt his throat close up. The war had divided the universe into three sections it seemed. The Milky Way Galaxy, the Pegasus Galaxy and the Neutral Worlds in between. The Neutral Worlds were a sick place, where the incredibly rich would exploit the desperately poor for anything they wished. There were no laws, except the ones they chose to follow. There was no order, save for the desire to never follow. He was now lower than the poor, he was a slave. His face was known all over the universe, there must be some kind of mistake.

The wall opened seamlessly and two men marched in. Whether they were Wraith, human or something else, it was impossibly to tell. They wore body armor that covered them from toe to neck in dark bronze, their faces hidden by separate masks. Strapped to their backs were fighting staffs equipped to shoot electricity through whoever they chose.

They grabbed John's wrists and bound them in front of his waist, as if daring him to try and break free. They pulled him out of the cell and into a long hallway that opened up onto a market place. He was thrust out onto a long platform where a short man was standing, looking at the sea of people with hungry eyes.

"I give you for a special price, an Atlantean General," he said motioning to John, "his injuries are terrible, his mind is broken. He is nothing more than a shell of former glory," he commanded the crowd very well, "but a tiger wounded is a tiger more fierce than any other beast on earth. He would make an excellent fighter, good enough to be a champion of any noble in the arena. I will start the bidding at--"

The rest was lost on John. How much he went for, how much he was worth, he couldn't hear above the buzzing in his ears. He was only aware when his hip connected solidly with the floor of some kind of cart. Frantically he raised his hands and grabbed his face and felt like he was going to pass out. What had been the right side of his face was nothing but a mess of raised lines that missed his eye and lips by centimeters.

He felt sick, not because of the scars or whatever else was wrong with him. But because apparently Atlantis was gone and he was unrecognizable. He didn't know if Elizabeth or anyone else was safe and he apparently never would. He wouldn't be able to tell her he loved her or that he was sorry their last words were in anger. He prayed that Elizabeth knew he loved her, no matter what. He hoped Teyla, Ronon, Carson and everyone else were safe.

The arena was a fabled battle ground, a modern day gladiator game where lives were pitted against each other for sport and entertainment. He knew if he lived through one battle it would be a miracle. If he was a slave he would probably last a week, maybe. Slaves were synonymous with dead anyway. When John pictured his life, this was not how he imagined it would end, ever. His hands fell against his sides as he bowed his head, finally broken.

88

In his room, Marcus Lorne walked back and forth across the space. His rooms were not terribly small, he was, after all, a General. They felt chokingly small suddenly, as if all the air had been sucked out of them. Unable to stand it anymore he headed over for the desk and yanked it open, pulling out the necklace that was lying inside.

"What does this mean?" he hissed turning it over in his fingers.

Something in Marcus had died long ago. He hadn't felt alive since he was in Atlantis with the remains of destruction surrounding him. He had sold his soul to do his job, part of him had known that would happen but none of him had really accepted how dead he was until he felt alive again. Now he was almost possessed, desperate to know what the necklace meant.

"General Lorne?"

Marcus looked up at the door. Pushing the necklace into the desk again, he walked over to the door and pulled it open. The man on the other side of the door was not expecting it because his eyes widened. Marcus realized how he must look, his hair disheveled and his eyes bloodshot. The fact he was in a t-shirt didn't help much either.

"Yes?" he demanded, not in the mood for kindness.

"O'Neil--"

"Tell him I'm busy," he said slamming the door and turning around.

He felt like he was losing his mind, going through some kind of with drawl. With every heartbeat he felt more and more numb. His back hit the door and his chest heaved as his heart seemed to slow. Something collected in the center of the room, something no human could ever begin to comprehend. It seemed to fill the room, pulsing through him, before it echoed out, leaving him feeling weak and cold with sweat pouring down his back. Dimly outside he heard someone yelling but the sound was lost on him.

"General Lorne open this door right now!"

"Sir, the power--something's wrong with the ship!"

"Get O'Neil, how the hell could something just be wrong?! Do we need to evacuate?"

"Negative--it seems like--sir the power just came back on full force."

"Run the scans," he said, "General Lorne!"

On the other side of his door, Marcus breathed hard. Shakily he raised a hand to his face. For a second he felt the right side of it covered in ridges but the next instantly all he felt was smooth skin that was wet. Raising his hand, he saw his palm was covered in blood, but the cut underneath was completely healed. He traced the raised scar with one finger and realized it was some kind of shape. He stumbled to his feet and pulled open his desk drawer, desperate to know the necklace was still there.

It wasn't, somehow it was looped around his neck, hanging next to his dog tags.


End file.
